Defiance
by Imberantiel
Summary: An AU based on Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb. Mycroft, a king-in-the-waiting suspects that his little brother Sherlock possess The Wit. Rating might change later.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft was 15 when they gave him the name Patience. Sherlock scoffed at the time. He had never found his brother to be very patient at all. He was far too ambitious for that, but ambition was a dangerous name, especially for a king in the waiting. In time Sherlock would be given a second name as well, like all members of the royal families. A name that was supposed to reflect his personality – a virtue the people expected him to somehow live up to. The naming of his brother had proved to Sherlock that it was mostly just wishful thinking, but tradition wasn't going to step aside for a 10 year old boy. Sherlock couldn't think of a fitting name for himself.

Being the young boy he was however, Sherlock had other things on his mind. Like Mycroft, Sherlock was clever. Very clever. Everything he took an interest in, he excelled at, mastering it as quickly as any adult. Unlike Mycroft however, Sherlock had no interest in politics or history, preferring practical tasks over pen and paper. Whenever he had the time he'd slip away to the stables to spend time with the animals, valuing their company much higher than that of his family. He'd often assist if any of the hounds expected pups or he'd help groom the horses and feed the hawks. The stable master took little to no notice of Sherlock, and when he did, he treated him like a boy rather than a prince. Sherlock would show his gratitude by leaving behind wine or cheese from time to time. Aside from seeing to the animals, Sherlock enjoyed fencing and, to his great surprise, poetry. Not all of them of course, most of them he ignored, but the ones that were good he learned by hearth, reciting them to his mother if he wanted a treat or praise. It was often said that if the two brothers cooperated they'd become an unstoppable force. Sherlock and Mycroft never cooperated however. Ever since they were small they had competed with each other – mostly because there was no one else to compete with. That did not change as they grew older as Mycroft always seemed to be one step ahead of Sherlock without really making an effort, while Sherlock raced to catch up with his brother or turned his attention to areas his brother had no interest in. In the race to catch up with his brother, Sherlock had no time for other children his age or any interest to socialize with them for that matter and spent most of his days alone with his nose buried in a book. The other children on the castle grounds where more than happy to leave Sherlock alone. He never followed the rules when they played anyway, often claiming that the rules were wrong.

As a result of this many of the people working at the castle grounds thought Sherlock was lonely and, especially the older female maids in particular, would approach him and try to chat with him for a little while. Very few did so more than once as Sherlock would simply sit and look back at them, listening, but not replying unless he could get away with a nod – the courtesy of their actions lost to him as Sherlock was completely absorbed in his own world. The truth is that Sherlock was not lonely at all. Despite his lack of human companions, Sherlock found all the companionship he needed in animals and particularly in a dark, small cat he had named Sasha. They had been as good as inseparable for almost a year. They wouldn't see much of each other during the day when Sherlock was busy with his studies, but at night Sasha slept in Sherlock's bed and in the mornings and evenings Sherlock would feed her fish or chicken before going down to have breakfast or dinner himself.

When Sherlock first met Sasha they had bumped into each other in one of the gardens. Sherlock hadn't seen her in the stables before, figuring she was a stray cat from town that had slipped past the gate. Sitting down on the grass, Sherlock gently reaches out towards her with a careful mental push. Getting a glimpse into her mind, Sherlock confirms his theory. Keeping the connection between them, Sherlock assures the small cat that he means her no harm and can provide her with food, the growling of the cat's tummy just as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. With the promise of a meal she followed him carefully until they reached the kitchens. There she waited outside while Sherlock fetched whatever he could get his hands on. Sherlock returned quickly with a platter of fish, urging the cat to follow as he brings the meal to his bedroom. Despite not seeing Sherlock as a threat the cat finishes her meal quickly before she leaves, disappearing back into the gardens. Sherlock doesn't chase after her, knowing she'd return for another meal when she's hungry. After a couple of days the bond of friendship had been established between them and the sight of Sherlock racing barefooted down the hall side by side with the cat in the hunt for mice became almost common.

Very few questioned the friendship between Sherlock and his cat, though Mycroft would occasionally raise an eyebrow at the pair, an uneasy feeling spreading in his gut.

In all honesty, Sherlock often wondered why more people didn't prefer animals over humans. The bond he shared with Sasha gave him so much more than any human relationship ever had. His friendship with Sasha didn't only mean having someone to seek comfort in and snuggle up against. It also meant being let into her world. What she heard, Sherlock heard and what she smelled, Sherlock smelled – her keener senses easily overriding his own. The world he got to witness through Sasha was by far more interesting than the one he could perceive on his own. No talk was needed between the two in order to communicate and therefore there were no misunderstandings, which was another reason Sherlock much preferred animals over people. Animals were not complicated. They either liked you or they disliked you, both based on straightforward reasoning. There were no complicated feelings to mess up the relationship or underlying intentions. If an animal doesn't like someone it will not pretend otherwise. Sherlock treasured the simplicity and bold honesty. Still, regardless the fondness Sherlock felt for all animals he didn't share the special bond he had with Sasha with any other animal. He would sometimes peek into the mind of a horse to see which one was the calmest if he was expected to practise his riding, but he never formed a bond between his and the horse's mind like he had with Sasha. What he shared with her was special. When he returned to his room at the end of the day, Sasha would be waiting for him. The sight of her would always improve Sherlock's mood, not matter how bad he might have felt earlier that day. Feeling Sasha's satisfaction as she ate whatever Sherlock brought her, Sherlock was able to relax himself – her pleasures becoming his and his troubles forgotten. At night Sasha would always place herself on Sherlock's stomach and Sherlock would pet her until the sound of her purring lulled him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Brother." _Sasha informed Sherlock one evening and they both looked up at the door seconds before it opened. Patience stood in the doorway for a little while before entering Sherlock's room. Silently he lets his eyes wander over the cat and his little brother. "Is there something you want to tell me?" Patience asks softly, his full attention fixed on Sherlock now. Sherlock shakes his head slowly, he couldn't recall having done anything wrong. With a sigh, Patience walks over to the bed, sitting down in front of Sasha. "Are you sure about that?" He hums, absentmindedly petting the cat. Sasha purrs, stretching underneath Mycroft's hand. Still, her delight wasn't enough to distract Sherlock from the nagging sensation at the back of his mind. "I haven't done anything." He answers his brother shortly, stubbornly meeting Patience's gaze. "No, I was afraid of that." Patience sighs, grabbing Sasha by the scruff of her neck. Sherlock lets out a shout of protest as Patience lifts the cat from the bed, placing himself in the middle of the room. Sherlock can feel the back of his neck tingle uncomfortably and he brushes his hand over it as if to remove something that wasn't there. Patience's expression hardens as he watches his brother. Without warning Patience starts shaking the squirming cat in his grip, angry snarls and hissing sounds filling the room. "Stop it!" Sherlock shouts, getting to his feet to run across the mattress and leap at his brother. He quickly tumbles forward however, sharing the discomfort and disorientation Sasha was feeling. Patience's expression softens and he looks sadly as his little brother where he lies face down on the mattress.

"I am sorry, Sherlock." Patience mumbles before leaving the room and locking the door behind him – taking the furious cat with him. "No!" Sherlock leaps for the door despite having clearly heard the lock turn. Standing on his knees in front of the door, Sherlock scratches at the wood, clinging furiously to Sasha's mind. He can hear Patience disappear down the hall, his awareness of Sasha growing fainter with each step. Sherlock cries out in anger and fear, knocking and clawing at the large wooden door that separates him from Sasha. Still, despite his efforts, there is no way for him to stop Sasha from slipping further and further out of his reach until she was gone. Sherlock shudders as he loses his connection with the cat completely. Exhausted Sherlock lets himself fall onto his back, looking up at the ceiling with a distant expression. Where his connection with Sasha had been there was now nothing. A dark, intimidating nothing that seemed to swallow him up. The feeling of loneliness creeps over Sherlock and he curls up on the floor, hugging himself. The next minutes seem to last forever, but eventually Sherlock became aware of footsteps approaching his door. Quickly getting to his feet, Sherlock wipes tears off his cheeks, only now realising he has been crying."

"Where is Sasha?" He demands the second Patience enters his room again. "Gone," Patience answers shortly. "Be grateful I am not telling mother and father." he continues calmly. Sherlock wasn't grateful at all, regarding his brother with despise. If Patience wasn't telling their mother and father, he had his own reasons for doing so. Selfish ones at that. "You won't attempt this again." Patience lets out a small sigh, ignoring his little brother's poisonous stare. "Nor will you mention it to anyone. We can't have people know." This time Patience meets Sherlock's gaze. "If you do, I'll make sure you're not allowed into the stables again." A small hissing sound escapes Sherlock and he watches his older brother with a hateful expression. Part of his anger however was due to confusion. He didn't understand what he had done wrong, or what exactly Patience was threatening him for. He had made a friend and now that friend had been taken away from him, leaving behind nothing, but fear and loneliness. Why? Because Patience didn't approve of it? Because it hadn't been a human companion? Sherlock grits his teeth, anger boiling inside him. He wants to leap at his brother, to claw his eyes out and make sure he could never see what Sherlock was up to again or who he spent his time with. Sherlock knows better than to attack his brother however. Later he'd take his anger out on a servant that happened to walk by. Glaring at the servant, Sherlock reached out with his mind and _pushed_, the servant stumbling forward – face first onto the floor. A few hours later when he had calmed down, Sherlock felt ashamed and discreetly slipped a few coins into the servant's pocket when he wasn't looking.

Patience leaves Sherlock in his room, a deep frown on his face. His little brother in his ignorance hates him, Patience knows that perfectly well. Still it was better than he hated him and was human than cared for him as a beast. Running a hand slowly down his face Patience heads for the yard in search of the weapons master. Ideas and precautions were already forming in his mind. With impatient gestures he waves the weapon master over, demanding to see her best student. The weapons master calls a short boy forward who regards Patience with a curious gaze, not understanding why he had been interrupted from his training. Patience studies the boy in return for a few seconds. "I want him handed over to Margery." He announces, turning his gaze towards the weapons master again. The weapon master frowns at Patience's words. She had sent students off to Margery before and they had excelled under her training, but none of them had ever returned to the weapons master's teachings to finish their training. She was hardly eager to see her best student taken away from her. "I wouldn't recommend it sir, he's built more for strength than agility." The weapon master says carefully, shooting Patience a glance. Patience however ignores her, his attention back on the boy.

"What's your name?"

"John, sir." The boy answers, looking impatiently over at the other students.

"John, tomorrow I want you to report to Margery. Tell her I sent you."

John pouts at the order, not liking the thought of leaving the group one bit. Still he gives Patience a reluctant nod before heading back to the other students. The weapon master watches him go with a small frown on her face.

"I still don't think-"

"I don't care what you think." Patience answers sharply. A second later his expression softens and he gives the weapon master a strained smile. "My apologies, it's been a trying week. If he proves to be wrong for Margery's teachings I will let him return to you."

The weapon master nods and then bows before leaving Patience alone with his thoughts. Immediately after he's left alone Patience regrets his decision, but he is not one to go back on his word. Besides he was willing to try anything to keep his little brother safe.


	3. Chapter 3

After the confrontation with his brother, Sherlock stayed away from the stables, afraid he'd become too attached to another animal and inflict the same faith upon it. Or rather, if he was going to be brutally honest, upon himself a second time. Instead he started retreating to the kitchens. Here too, people took little interest in him, the cooks and maids busy with their work and the soldiers far too occupied with their food to take notice of the small boy sitting in the corner. Just as well. Sherlock wasn't there to talk, he was there to observe. He'd study the soldiers where they sat by their tables, looking for injuries or other tell tale signs of where they had been and how the fighting had fared. Upon studying the cooks and maids, Sherlock looked for whatever he could find, whatever could tell him about their habits and personalities without a word being exchanged between them. One day he'd be able to see through his brother and use it against him. It was difficult at first without Sasha's keen senses to help him, but Sherlock quickly discovered he had a knack for this sort of thing, his eyes, however dull they now seemed to him, and mind piecing together the information he gathered from a quick glance at someone's hands or face. He could tell who had been working there for a long time and who was new, what they had been preparing the night before and if someone had slept while on duty. Still he would never comment on his observations, just silently make them and then leave.

Patience didn't seek out his brother after their confrontation and Sherlock in turn avoided Patience to the best of his ability. If they were in the same room they wouldn't speak to each other unless demanded to do so and even then their conversations where short and to the point. If they could get away with it, they wouldn't even exchange words, just give each other a look or a sign instead. Their mother would often scold the both of them and they would promise to try harder to get along without really meaning it.

Half a year passed before the two had a proper conversation again that was not forced by their mother. It began with Patience making his way to Sherlock's room, carrying a large book with him. Knocking once on the door he lets himself in without any invitation, finding Sherlock sitting on the bed with his nose buried in a book of his own.  
"Put that away." Patience says shortly, placing his book down on the bed by Sherlock's feet. Sherlock doesn't move, but lifts his gaze to study the book Patience had brought him. "Mother and father are saying it's time you learned The Skill," Patience continues, placing himself in the middle of the room. "You can't be allowed to."  
Sherlock looks up at his brother for the first time since he entered the room, a disapproving frown on his face. Patience nods towards the book lying on the bed. With a roll of his eyes Sherlock puts away his book, replacing it with the one Patience had brought. It was old, but fairly unused with squiggly letters that were hard to read.  
"What's this?" Sherlock glances back up at Patience, an impatient look on his face. "Answers," Patience says calmly, sitting down by the window.  
"Leave," Sherlock huffs in a demanding voice. Patience remains in his chair, giving Sherlock a crooked smile.

Putting his brother out of his mind Sherlock begins reading. Patience had marked a chapter for him called "The Wit" obviously wanting him to read it. As he reads through the chapter Sherlock was shocked to discover that not everybody shared his skill of reaching into the mind of an animal. Or rather, The Wit, as the book referred to it as. He was even more shocked when he discovered that it was frowned upon and considered a perversion, especially within the royal family. He frowns as he realises what sort of position that put him in. He was not considered talented at all, but tainted. Up until that point Sherlock had thought that everybody could reach into the minds of animals they just chose not to. Just like everybody learns how to run, but most people prefer to walk. If no one else, Sherlock had been sure that the stable master possessed the talent considering his way with animals, but when Sherlock later asked him about it the stable master scowled at him, telling him to bugger off and let him work in peace.  
"I suggest you read it carefully." Patience watches Sherlock carefully before getting up from his chair and leaving the room.

Sherlock followed Patience's advice for the first time in a long time, spending the rest of the day sitting in bed with the book Patience had given him. Having read the chapter describing the Wit twice Sherlock moves on to read about The Skill. He didn't know much about it; only that Patience had been trained in it and that he too was suppose to receive the same training. As he read on Sherlock understood why his brother had insisted he couldn't undergo the training. The Skill and the The Wit were in many ways opposite forms of magic. While The Wit allowed one to reach into the minds of animals, The Skill allowed one to reach into the minds of men. It was mostly used in times of war, mainly to command troops that were far away or to manipulate the mind of the enemy. If someone were to reach into Sherlock's mind during training his secret could be leaked. While he was certain his mother and father would not condemn him for his ability there wasn't much they could do to against the fears of others. Sherlock tells himself it was better they didn't know.

"I don't want to learn the Skill." Sherlock announces one morning as breakfast is nearly done. He shoots Patience a quick glance though his brother does not look up from his book. Next Sherlock settles his gaze on his father who watches him back with a thoughtful expression.  
"Why?" He asks softly, raising an eyebrow at his youngest son.  
"I've read about it. It seems like a waste of my time." Sherlock argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have no interest in playing with the minds of others."  
"It's expected among the royal family that everyone is tested and if they possess the Skill then trained. Several of your cousins will be there." Sherlock's father explains as Patience excuses himself and leaves. "I won't ask you to like it, but I will ask you to try, Sherlock. That's my final word on the matter." He announces before leaving the table.  
Sherlock frowns as his mother pulls him in for a hug. There was only one thing to do. He had to fail.


	4. Chapter 4

**(I am sorry this chapter is rather short and that I've kept you waiting for so long. Plenty of things have been happening to keep me busy and I've been trying to improve my writing and story telling skills. Hopefully that'll be visible in the next chapter.) **

Failing proved to be the hardest thing Sherlock had ever done. He was used to excelling in what he did; only needing to have something explained to him once before he grasped it. Worse yet, everyone else were expecting him to excel as well. Sherlock could feel the glances of his cousins and other, more distant relatives on him as they all stood in a large, empty room, waiting for their instructor. Most of the other children were around Sherlock's age though some were even younger. Slowly they started to form small groups of three to five, speaking in hushed voices to each other. Sherlock remained standing on his own, impatiently watching the door. He wasn't planning on staying after all and even if he had been, he still wouldn't have drifted towards one of the groups. They would have welcomed him if he did, Sherlock was certain of that, but he found none of his relatives interesting enough to be willing to participate in idle conversation with them. Finally the large, wooden door opened and an elderly man stepped inside. Without a word of greeting he let his eyes run over the group of children as the room quickly fell silent.  
"Well," the man drawled in a low voice before nodding slightly. "Shall we begin?"

No one mastered or even quite understood what their instructor was trying to teach them the first day. Then again, the Skill Master didn't expect them to either. To these children the idea of entering someone else's head was as foreign as learning how to fly. Sherlock understood the most basic information, but that was much thanks to his book and even with that knowledge he was nowhere near understanding exactly _how _a person used the Skill. Even if he wasn't going to allow himself to use the Skill he still wanted the knowledge of how it worked. He'd have to somehow balance his inevitable failure with the possibility of staying and learning for as long as possible. Their instructor, who had introduced himself as Domenic, spent most of the first lecture talking. He spoke about how in order to Skill they needed to open their minds to others and allow a connection to be formed between them. To enter someone's mind by reaching out towards them and once inside the other's head, make contact or if they needed to, break down the walls inside the other's head and sneak their way in unnoticed. Domenic spent a long time arguing for the equal importance of both methods.

"You have to understand." Domenic lets his eyes run over the group of children. "That your services will be needed and relayed upon in times of war. You are to the king what horses are to the army." Domenic pauses, giving his words time to sink in.  
"You might be needed to deliver a message from the king himself to one of his knights on the battlefield _or _your king might order you to try and stop an attack completely by sneaking your way into the mind of the enemy and somehow convince him not to attack. You need to master both in order to be of use."  
At the end of the session Domenic had reached out towards each of the children in turn though no one was able to reach out in return and meet him. Sherlock had felt a small tingle on his forehead as Domenic reached out towards him, but that had been it. Before he left Domenic had placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and smiled faintly.  
"Your brother couldn't do it the first time either. It will come to you in time as it did with him" Domenic's smile grew wider. "I am certain I can present a fine and talented student to the king by the end of our time together."  
Sherlock wanted to sneer at Domenic's words, though his expression remains indifferent. Without a word of thanks he makes his way past Domenic and out through the door, rushing down the crowded hallway.

As he reaches his room Sherlock throws himself on his bed with a dramatic sigh, his face buried in the pillow. Domenic's words repeated themselves over and over in his head until they made him feel sick. He had been compared to Patience before with the expectance to live up to him, but in the past he had always been certain he would. This time he couldn't allow himself to. Angry and embarrassed Sherlock made his way out of bed and down to the kitchen, starting a row with one of the kitchen boys. The whole thing played out for a surprisingly long amount of time before an adult intervened. Sherlock made sure the other boy had the chance to break his nose before the fight ended, ensuring he'd be excused from tomorrow's session. In return however he knew he had to face Patience and a scolding.

In the room underneath Sherlock's bedroom John Watson was undergoing the teachings of Margery – the king's left hand and personal assassin. Margery was kind and sweet, nothing at all what John had imagined her to be when he learned the news. He had frowned and been set on disliking Margery simply out of spite for her profession, but her charming smile and warm personality had soon won him over. It also helped however that Patience had assured John that his job would not strictly speaking be that of an assassin; he only needed to undergo the training.  
John was by no means a natural talent, but he was certainly willing to learn – growing confident and proud from Margery's praise and warm smile whenever he succeeded at a given task. As any young boy he was eager to impress and show off and so learned fast and, in time, mastered Margery's teachings. Whenever he had a day off however, John would head over to visit the weapon's master, sparring with her to make up for his lost lessons. They never spoke of Margery or John's training while they sparred, in fact very few people seemed to even know who Margery was. John asked the king in waiting about it once and got nothing in reply, but a small smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

John stayed in Margery's care for the next years to come, devoting himself to her teachings. She became like a mother figure to him in many ways, caring for him as well as teaching him the tips and tricks of her trade. The King In Waiting had kept his promise and John had never had to kill a man, despite his training. He _knew_ of many ways to kill a man, but had never been asked to do the deed. While it became more and more difficult for him to keep up his weapons training he became quite skilled at hand to hand combat under Margery's watchful eye. With the hand to hand combat came a swiftness and speed one wouldn't predict John to posses considering his built. Skilled as he was however, hand to hand combat did not go well with the rest of Margery's teaching and techniques and John soon had to add other skills to his repertoire. The making and preparing of poisons, the knowledge of what to do should he or someone in his care become poisoned, how to kill a man soundlessly or with as little effort as possible and the ability to read and write.  
In time Margery told John the reason behind his training. Part of it, anyway. Up until that point John hadn't really been curious about it. Margery had given him regular meals, a place to sleep and more knowledge than he could ever had hoped to acquire on his own. Somewhere along the line he had allowed himself to forget that his training was a means to an end and that he wouldn't always be with Margery and learn from her. Now instead he would take on the role of a bodyguard, watching over the youngest prince to make sure no harm came to him. John had asked Margery why the prince would need a bodyguard, it wasn't a common practice among the royal families, but he got no answer from her. Then again the young prince wasn't much liked and might very well need someone to watch his back. Besides it wasn't John's place to ask, only to obey.  
"I will still be here only as your equal and not as your teacher." Margery would say. John doubted he'd ever be Margery's equal, but smiled nonetheless.

As Sherlock grew older his talent of observation grew with him and he soon abandoned the petty thought of using them to take revenge on his brother for the hurt he had suffered at his hands. Instead he was motivated by the freedom it gave him. By knowing most there was to know about a person from a quick glance, Sherlock no longer had any need to carry on a conversation with anyone and if forced to he responded mostly through facial expressions or by nodding or shaking his head. If Sherlock did open his mouth it was usually to correct others or make a dry remark and when he did so, it was with no regard for who he was talking to. As far as Sherlock was concerned false information should be corrected. No one should walk around spreading false knowledge, knowingly or not, whether he was a king or a farmer and Sherlock happily corrected both with the same sharp tongue. It gained him a certain reputation inside and outside the castle, leading to most people avoiding him and whispering behind his back. Sherlock didn't mind the whispers; it was a small price to pay in exchange for the solitude that came with it. He didn't like people, nor did he need people to like him. The crown was not his to inherit and as far as he was concerned, the lives and fates of the people around him didn't matter to him in the slightest.  
When the time came for his parents to give Sherlock a second name they named him Defiance. When Sherlock announced to his father later the same day that he had no intention of using the name for himself his father only laughed at the irony.

It was on the same day John and Sherlock were introduced for the first time. John, having learned the reason behind his training had spent some days stalking the young prince in an effort to learn his habits and duties. Sherlock wasn't exactly the chatty type and John wanted to be as little trouble as possible. Sherlock on the other hand had been unaware of John's very existence until his brother saw it fit to introduce the two.  
"This is John Watson." Patience announced, the three of them standing in Defiance's chambers. John bowed, only to be ignored by the other.  
"He's been trained under Margery and now he's to be your bodyguard." Patience continues calmly, completely ignoring the look of disapproval on Defiance's face. "He's been given a room next to yours and will become your shadow during the day."  
John's eyes run between Patience and Defiance and he couldn't help, but notice the deep frown on Defiance's face. Had he not known before now that John would be his shadow or had he already decided he didn't like him? John makes a grimace of discomfort, shifting awkwardly where he stands, ignored by both brothers.  
"I don't need him." Defiance finally spoke, a cold, dismissive tone in his voice.  
"Yes, Defiance. You do." The King in Waiting arched an eyebrow at the other and Defiance looked as if he had been poked by a sharp needle.  
The Skill. While Defiance had failed his lessons, the ability to Skill was still dormant inside him, allowing Patience to communicate with him by thought alone even though Defiance was unable to reply. Being excluded from the rest of the conversation John takes a small step back, making himself small and as unnoticeable as possible.  
The minutes seemed to drag on, the heavy silence in the room almost suffocating. Eventually however the brothers seemed to reach some sort of agreement, Patience running his eyes over John once before leaving the room. John gives the king in waiting a bow, only to have the door close in his face. Ridding the frown from his face John turns to look at Defiance, waiting for some sort of order. The young prince looked back at him, cold eyes studying his face. John felt like he was being sorted into a category and judged, shifting uncomfortably underneath the prince's gaze.  
"If there's anything you need-" John starts off before he's interrupted.  
"I don't." Defiance replies sharply. "You're dismissed."  
John who had become so used to Margery's sweet smile and kind manners couldn't help, but frown up at the young prince. Defiance's reputation was not underserved.  
"Yes Defiance, my lord."  
"Sherlock." The other corrected him sharply.  
"Defiance, my lord." John repeats, stubbornness crossing his face before he closes the door behind him, leaving the young prince to his thoughts.


End file.
